


Transitions

by transpines



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Amanda is an ally, FTM Spock, Gen, Jim Kirk may come in later, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Sarek is trying, Spock is Valid™, Trans Male Character, Trans Spock (Star Trek), Uhura is nonbinary and as great as ever, Vulcan Culture, it's 2018 we don't hate T'Pring, i’ll let you know, some dysphoria, some transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14891477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transpines/pseuds/transpines
Summary: His father wants him to become an ambassador. Vulcan custom wants him to marry T'Pring, and his grandmother wants him to remain as T'Pock while he does it. But Spock has never fit in with tradition, and he isn't about to start now. Just little scenes with FTM trans!Spock as he begins to live the life he deserves.





	1. See?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, this is an AU. Pon farr comes earlier in life than shown in TOS; it hits most Vulcans in their early-to-mid twenties, rather than their forties for some reason. The koon-chara is a ceremonial dance held eight years after a couple’s initial bonding ceremony— the point of the dance is to reinforce the bond and begin thinking of one another as romantic partners. Spock, naturally, is not a fan.
> 
> I've always had trouble remembering how to pronounce female Vulcan names, so here's a PSA: the 't' at the beginning sounds like a 'teh', as in 'teh-POCK'. Happy reading!

“See? Don’t they look nice?” Amanda asked, handing the PADD to her husband’s mother. Currently, the screen displayed a fifteen-year-old T’Pock, posing stiffly in new robes. T’Pane regarded the image with the barest hint of a raised eyebrow, before glancing up at the real T’Pock across the room.

“They are... admirable,” she finally replied. “Were you not already in possession of formal wear, T’Pock?”

Her gaze passed right by Amanda, piercing her granddaughter through what felt like the heart. T’Pock froze. She _k_ _new_ that any reaction she had, no matter how minute, would be seen and judged. Especially by T’Pane. Her hesitation had already been too long.

“I am in possession of some,” she recovered, though not quickly enough, “They are small. I acquired garments for Father’s embassy reception 2.4 years ago.”

She knew it wasn’t the right answer. T’Pane looked down at her coldly.

“Consider acquiring more. You will need better than this for your upcoming ritual with T’Pring. Do not forget that you are female.”

 _Factually speaking, I am not_ , T’Pock wanted to say, but she didn’t dare.

“I would rather not wear a dress,” she stated instead. It sounded casual enough, though that kind of direct declaration would be taken as a challenge in itself. At least she wasn’t defying her grandmother outright. Amanda glanced at the pair worriedly. She took the PADD back, but didn’t interfere.

“Is there a reason for you not to?” T’Pane asked. T’Pock met her eyes, steady.

“There is no reason for me _to_. These robes are already in my possession, and while they were not the most expensive—”

“You are becoming a woman, T’Pock,” T’Pane interrupted. “You will match T’Pring. Tradition alone is reason enough.”

The young Vulcan fumed, but she bowed her head. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

Yet Spock— yes, that was the right name— knew he wasn’t a girl. It was factual information to him, clear as day. When T’Pane ‘reminded’ him otherwise, he knew she was wrong in the same way he knew when one of his classmates occasionally gave a wrong answer. It simply was. And, if that weren’t enough, every mention of womanhood and custom came to him accompanied with a sense of loathing. It wasn’t inherently bad. It just didn’t fit him.

He hadn’t fully understood the disparity when he was a child, so it hadn’t bothered him much. Perhaps he had had enough other things to deal with then. Now, however, he was fifteen. His marriage and adulthood loomed closer and closer; his _koon-chara_ , the dance he would share with T’Pring to strengthen their bond, was coming up in a matter of weeks. It was a fact that every relative he had _politely_  and _logically_ reminded him of every time they saw him. In short, his future was all he heard about

Yet, as much of a stressor as it had become, the dance itself didn’t mean anything. He could procrastinate their relationship for awhile longer— T’Pring seemed to be fine with that. Neither he nor his bond mate would begin _pon farr_ for at least another five years to come, if he'd even experience it at all. But as he kept being told:

“Being prepared will bring prosperity. It is illogical to delay the inevitable.”

“I have not seen you spending much time with your bond mate, T’Pock. Perhaps _koon-chara_ will enhance your relations.”

“If you waste your adolescence physically fighting your schoolmates and letting your human emotions rule you,” T’Pane had reprimanded him, more than once, “You will have nothing worth offering to T’Pring when the time comes.”

Unsurprisingly, this had only made him angrier and more obstinate. He fought to control his emotions, to master and hide them, but at fifteen he wasn’t good enough to fool full-blooded Vulcans. The fact that they all saw him as female only made it worse.

He held back a sigh. Soon after he’d yielded to his grandmother’s claims, he made a polite excuse to leave the room. He could feel her eyes boring into him, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Spock darted into his grandfather’s library and curled into an alcove, facing the window. He hung his head in shame.

“T’Pock?” A soft voice soon called from the doorway, still audible from the hall. Spock didn’t have to look to know it was his mother. He allowed himself to grimace for just a second before turning his expression blank, facing her. “ _K’vath_ ,” he said, inviting her in.

Amanda closed the door behind her. She sat on the edge of the one of the reading chairs. She was silent for a moment, perhaps contemplating; Spock had no idea of what. Even with the full range of human emotions she displayed, she was incomprehensible to him. _Why was she here?_

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Amanda eventually murmured, surprising him. “I’m sorry, Spock.”

Spock felt a pang of pride at the sound of his real name, but it was quickly buried by the circumstances. No one else ever called him that. He shook his head.

“You were merely trying to engage in conversation,” he replied automatically. After a breath’s pause, he continued. “With, it may be noted, someone who cares very little for anything she has not brought up herself,” Spock added out of spite. His mother laughed.

“Well, you’re right about that,” she said. They sat for another minute in a tense peace, before she stood, and placed a hand on her son’s shoulder.

“I know this is hard for you. I wish I could do more than I’m able to, but you are _strong_ , Spock. Your grandmother may never understand, but... listen to me: You can wear whatever you want to this dance. You can wear whatever you want to your wedding. Hell— don’t let your father hear me say this, but—” she lowered her voice, “if it would make you happier to enroll in Starfleet and travel the stars, or go get a job on some other planet rather than stay here with T’Pring, following in his footsteps… do it. We’ll work it out somehow.”

Spock was speechless. He looked into his mother’s face, searching for the right words or the right formality to tell her how much that meant to him— that incredible show of so-human support in the face of all of this, but to his disappointment nothing came. There were no words. Instead, he hesitated, and then gently placed his own hand over hers.

Luckily, she was his mother. She didn’t need words to understand.

“I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

Amanda left the room soon after, at his request; he didn’t want T’Pane to get suspicious, or his father to come back from whatever meeting he’d been in to find her alone. Whether she would call it thus or not, the woman had a penchant for gossip. He didn’t need to imagine what she might say about him.

So here he sat, alone in the library. A temporary hideout from circumstances he couldn’t avoid, one of those being the continued contact with his relatives for the evening. He couldn’t escape, but he couldn’t return until he had calmed himself sufficiently. _In, and out_. _Slow your heart rate. You are in control._

On a whim, he tried to reach out to T’Pring.

He closed his eyes, breathing evenly and searching for her presence through the bond. Their connection was telepathic— he should have be able to easily sense her mind, and even communicate with her with enough concentration. He focused on finding her, and once he’d located a trace of activity, sending her himself.

Nothing. The faint blip of T’Pring vanished, and Spock was left alone.

Without thinking, he let out a sigh. He found himself fighting a wave of negative emotions, a rising tide drowning him in worse loneliness than he’d already felt— but he couldn’t say he was surprised. His connection to T’Pring had always been weak.

He’d initially blamed his human side for inhibiting the bond, or his unchecked emotions, but lately he was beginning to think she simply did not like him. Not as a mate, anyway. He didn’t blame her. As far as he understood, T’Pring was only interested in women, and Spock simply didn’t fill that requirement.

As far as he was concerned, for that matter, the “T’Pock” she was bound to had never existed. T'Pock was only a memory, a projection of the things everyone wanted from him. A role he’d had to fill and play, and was still forced to play now, but nothing more. He hadn’t always understood it this clearly, but he was sure of himself now.

If only he could move forward.

He could never tell T’Pane. She’d either find out on her own, once he was living his own life, perhaps in Starfleet, or she would die not knowing. Spock wasn’t _happy_ with this arrangement, per se, but it was enough to soothe him. Worse things would come if he told his grandmother that her ‘granddaughter’, already a half-human disgrace, was actually her grandson.

No, that would only cause trouble for years to come. It would bring even more shame to his family. So even though T’Pane berated him, misgendered him, and caused him literal pain in keeping quiet, he would continue to do so. It was only logical.

She would not, however, keep him from living the life he deserved. Spock was certain of that. He would protest, slowly at first, wearing robes meant for young men in lieu of the silvery dress T’Pring would wear at their dance. He might cut his hair. He might apply to Starfleet. Who knew what lay in store for him?

Right now, the answer was dinner. Any minute now he’d need to return. He’d play nice on his father’s behalf, take the mental and emotional blows from T’Pane as he’d taken physical ones from other children in his youth. He knew who he was— he only hoped that would be enough to get him through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The term “koon-chara” comes from the Vulcan prefix “koon”, meaning marriage, and “chara”, the latter half of the word “ten’chara”. This word was used in a draft to refer to the telepathic mating bond Vulcans share, though it never made it on screen. More details on the Vulcan language can be found at Memory Alpha.


	2. Koon-chara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock is fifteen years old, and knows who he is. The rest of the world... still doesn't. But his mother helped him get robes to wear instead of a dress to koon-chara, and he'll be damned if he isn't going to make the most of that opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this TOS Spock? Is this AOS Spock? It doesn’t really matter, since I’m writing my own canon anyway. What matters is: he's trans.  
> Inspiration for koon-chara as a ritual was taken from the TOS episode "Amok Time", but the ritual shown here isn't the same one and serves a different purpose. If you find yourself confused at any time, please see the end for more notes about the way Vulcan society operates, both generally and in this universe.

In the quietness of an empty house, Spock prepared himself for _koon-chara_. He stepped into his robes, struggling to quell the nervousness that kept bubbling up in his chest. He didn’t know how everyone watching would react to him— and based on T’Pane’s commentary, he didn’t think he wanted to. Unfortunately, his choice in the matter was limited. T’Pring would be meeting him at the ceremony grounds precisely before the sun went down, in just under an hour.

 _He_ knew he wasn’t a girl. But he was still primarily seen as one, and this ritual was his first step toward changing that. At fifteen years old, Spock found himself as an amalgamation; a hybrid of both the masculine traits he felt and the feminine traits he _had_ rolled into one. Tonight, he sported his own robes but T’Pock’s hair, and T’Pock’s role as T’Pring’s bondmate. It was hard enough being half-human. Until he could cast off T’Pock totally, he was stuck being treated as a warped version of her.

When he looked into the mirror, after tying his sash, he did not see _himself._

His face was too round, and too soft. His robes lay uncomfortably over him, still a little bit too big despite the adjustments his mother had tried to make. He glanced over his hair, swept up and intricately braided like T’Pring’s would be, and desperately wished he could just cut it off.

It was too late to do it now. Perhaps afterwards.

Spock had dealt with loneliness, fear, anger and isolation. He’d given in to outbursts, then began meditating to dilute his feelings as he grew older. He’d been forced to learn methods to conquer his emotions, or at least disguise them behind an expressionless shield. But the dysphoria consuming him now was an entirely different challenge. Spock felt more turmoil within himself than he ever had before; a perfect storm of the femininity and humanity he was simultaneously pushing back against.

He wanted to cry.

He didn’t.

There was no time. The sun neared the horizon, and without a few moments of meditation Spock doubted he could handle _koon-chara_. So, he tore his eyes from the girl in the mirror and sat on the bed, wishing her away. _In, and out… In, and out._

He wasn’t ready, but he went.

 

* * *

 

T’Pring was standing exactly where she said she’d be when Spock arrived. She met his eyes and spoke.

“T’Pock. Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched. We meet at the appointed place.”

“T’Pring,” he returned, nodding, “Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched. To _koon-chara_.”

T’Pring said nothing more. She smiled, just enough to appear engaged, before walking with him to the west side of the ceremony circle. She looked beautiful— impeccable and composed, more sure of herself than anyone Spock knew. If she was surprised at his choice of attire, she didn’t let on. That, at least, made Spock feel a little less out of place.

Other couples were gathering on the west side now, in their own well-fitting robes and dresses. Some matched, and some didn’t, though all looked as they were meant to. When the sun had set, the ceremony officials began reciting from memory how important _koon-chara_ was to Vulcan society; how it was a custom that had solidified many a marriage and prevented a number of challenges from arising during _koon-ut-kal-if-fee_. Spock’s attention kept drifting to the subtle glances he could feel coming from the other Vulcans, but T’Pring forced him back into line with a mental nudge.

Upon command, Spock and T’Pring walked out into the circle with the others. They faced one another, hands held up in the Vulcan salute before the slow music began, and they stepped in time. Their minds were to be totally focused on each other.

“You have broken tradition,” T’Pring murmured, only loud enough for her bondmate to hear. She made a slight gesture at his robes. “Why?”

Her voice was cool and Spock could tell she was more interested in an answer than in accusing him, but his heart still skipped a beat. “ _Kaiidth_ ,” he replied, equally quietly.

“Explain.”

“What is, is. It is illogical to deny what cannot be changed, and I know now that my true self cannot be reflected in the role I was given.”

“So you are changing your role instead,” she mused. “Who do you see your true self to be?”

He hesitated, almost missing a step and breaking the rhythm of the dance. The couples nearest them glanced over. Despite looking unimpressed, T’Pring held out an arm to steady him.

“Spock,” he admitted.  

The world did not immediately change. No one overheard him, there was no planet-shattering wave or dramatic rejection from T’Pring— not even a logical rebuttal to his claim. She simply nodded, and they continued to dance.

Spock thought he might spontaneously combust anyway. His heart rate was up, higher than he wanted it to be from the pressure and stress building inside him. He took a deep breath.

“Do you have nothing else to add?” he asked. T’Pring looked deliberately into his eyes and shook her head.

“ _Kaiidth_ ,” she repeated. “What is, is. If that is the way you feel, then do not hold it back. But it would be wise to remember that others may need more convincing.”

Spock bowed his head solemnly as the music faded out and a new song began. She was right, of course. It would take incredible amounts of effort to change the world’s perception of him, and logic alone wasn’t always going to do it. It would take bravery— more than just the bravery it took to wear what he wanted to a sacred event— and patience. It would take repeated attempts and endurance of failure. It was hard to think about the pressure of what awaited him, so he tried to be present in _koon-chara_.

They danced in silence for a while, each making real effort for the first time in years to feel connected through the bond. Spock had no doubt that T’Pring could sense the conflict within his mind, but he felt better now that she knew. If she chose to invoke challenge during _koon-ut-kal-if-fee_ because of this, so be it.

Now, two people knew who he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put quite a bit of time into researching Vulcan customs for this story, so if you don't read a lot of Star Trek stuff, you may or may not be familiar with the ins and outs of it all. Here's a brief rundown of the traditions that affect Spock's life the most:  
> At age seven, many Vulcans become mentally bonded to their arranged marriage partner. In TOS Spock describes this connection as "less than a marriage but more than a betrothal". In the society of this story, same-sex couples are accepted (Spock as T'Pock is bound to T'Pring, which isn't seen as odd) but divergences in gender identity are harder to accept and understand.  
> As noted in this chapter, the ritual of koon-chara happens eight years later. I invented this one.  
> The marriage ritual referred to in this chapter, koon-ut-kal-if-fee, comes directly from TOS canon. Vulcans are logical most of the time, but eventually in their lives they will experience pon farr, an ancient physiological phenomena most simply described as... well, f*ck or die. Pon farr drives the need for bondmates to be close to one another, and the first time it occurs, it is solved by the marriage ritual. Both partners (presumably, although in TOS it was shown to only be T'Pring because of heterosexual gender roles) reserve the right to go on with the marriage, or invoke kal-if-fee, the challenge. The invoker will choose a challenger to fight for them against their bondmate, and typically whoever wins gets the marriage. In this universe, koon-chara was implemented as a measure to help prevent kal-if-fee, though it doesn't work every time.


	3. Establishing Spock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The robes, most were willing to ignore, or pass off as a quirky trait. Getting his hair cut off is something Spock may not be able to avoid questions about, perhaps that's a good thing. He needs momentum to move forward anyway.

He couldn’t do it.

Spock stood in front of his bathroom mirror, scissors seconds away from snipping through a long chunk of his hair. He’d done everything he could to prepare, from thoroughly researching mens’ hairstyles on his PADD, to just now covering the floor with a towel so he wouldn’t make a mess. Two months ago, he’d gathered the courage to wear masculine robes out in public, to _koon-chara._ Now, the simple act of cutting his hair off was apparently too much for him. He lowered the scissors with a sigh.

 _I_ cannot _keep it long. Something has to be done._

He went through the options in his head. If he went to a professional, he’d have to explain not only _that_ he wanted it extremely short instead of far past his shoulders, but also _why_. He saw no good ending to that— being the only half-human child on Vulcan didn’t exactly make him inconspicuous. Word would eventually get around to his father… No. If he was going to come out to his father, he needed to do it himself. At the moment, of course, Sarek was at work, meaning even if Spock were ready to tell him he couldn’t.

And, if he couldn’t fix his own hair, that really only left one option. With reluctance, Spock walked down the hall to his parents’ room, and knocked.

“Mother?” he called.

The door slid open, and Amanda glanced up from the journal she’d been writing in. “Hello, Spock.”

“I— I would like you to cut my hair.”

Amanda smiled. With an easy motion, she closed the journal and welcomed him into the room, beckoning him inside. “I was wondering when this might come up,” she admitted. “I’m surprised you haven’t done it yourself already.”

Spock scanned the room as he entered, trying to calm himself. He wasn’t in here often, but it still looked the same to him; a constant that both comforted him and divided him from his parents. His gaze lingered on the journal— another constant. His mother had been keeping journals for as long as he could remember, though he’d never understood why she choose to handwrite them. Not only would it be faster and easier to record digital entries, but the final result would be more permanent. Still, it must have held some value to her, or she wouldn’t continue doing it.

He wondered if she’d been writing about him. It seemed statistically likely.

“Spock?”

He looked back up at her, where she now stood at the doorway to the bathroom. “I am sorry,” he said. He handed her the scissors, and followed her in.

“Sit down here,” Amanda instructed, pulling a padded stool out from underneath the counter. She began rummaging under the sink, grabbing a comb, a hand mirror, and a few other things before standing up and gently petting Spock’s hair.

“I’m not quite sure I know how to do this,” she warned him, “but, I promise not to make you bald. How about that?”

“Bald would be preferable to how it is now,” Spock deadpanned. His mother chuckled softly.

“Of course it would.”

 

* * *

 

She started by trimming all of his hair to about the length of his chin. “We’ll go from here,” she’d told him. Spock watched in the mirror as years’ worth of hair fell out of sight, bringing him one step closer to abandoning T’Pock. It felt… complicated.

On one hand, pride swelled inside him for making progress. As his mother worked away at his hair, his dysphoria started to shrink— perhaps temporarily, but still. He was affirming himself; establishing _Spock_ in one of the only ways he could do so. On the other hand… a feeling he could only interpret as a loss filled his chest. Even though he didn’t feel like he _was_ T’Pock, many years of his memories and experiences were deeply connected to her. Spock wondered what he was losing, other than just his hair, by making the choice to go through with this. _What if I don’t even find it satisfying?_

It hurt. Now that he was sitting here, even more doubts clouded his mind— _Short hair might not look good on me. It’s possible that I’ll never look the way I really want to. Perhaps I’m just trying too hard— if this is a mistake, everyone is going to see it and the solutions are limited—_

His mother paused, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Spock,” she murmured. “You’re tensing up. We can stop if you want, I’ll try to make this something.” She gestured to the hair that now hit the middle of his ears.

Spock met her eyes in the mirror. He often found himself amazed at how accurate his mother’s emotional readings could be, this time being no exception. Rationally, he knew she would do everything in her power to make his hair look good, or at least acceptable. His trust in her was stronger than his anxiety.

“No. You can continue,” he decided. He closed his eyes.

He could still feel her working, the scissors against his head, but now his focus was elsewhere.  He thought about the future, and the man he would hopefully become— he thought about Starfleet, and the role he might play on some massive ship out in the stars. When negative thoughts crept in, he imagined himself stepping away from them, and continuing on with his life. He felt his expression become blank.

But he couldn’t help but smile when Amanda tapped him on the shoulder, finally stepping back to show him the mostly-even short haircut he now had. “What do you think?” she asked, brushing a few cut strands out of his face. “I know it’s not perfect, Spock. But I can try to make it even shorter, if that’s what you want. We’ll figure it out together.”

She passed him the hand mirror, which Spock took, though he was already leaning in to look in the big one. His ears! He could see his own ears without pulling his hair back. His head felt lighter— his bangs, newly trimmed, looked like they actually belonged to a boy. Almost instinctively he reached up to feel the back of his head, and let out a little laugh when he could.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Amanda smiled, and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m so proud of you.” she said.

 

* * *

 

His mother was right. Technically speaking, the haircut wasn’t perfect. Upon further examination, Spock noticed that one of his sideburns extended further down than the other, and the fade from the bottom to top of his head wasn’t totally even or smooth. His bangs may have dipped down slightly in the middle of his forehead, instead of being perfectly straight across. If Spock was being honest with himself, though, it was one of the best presents he’d ever gotten. It felt so good.

Now, if only he could stop being scared shitless about what his father was going to say.

Amanda had assured him he had no need to worry, that Sarek would still love him and that he could even use the haircut as a jumping-off point to come out, if he wished. And there was no rush if he didn’t. She would be there if he needed anything, and she, too, loved him no matter what. “You have listed everything a mother is supposed to say,” Spock had concluded, which she laughed about.  

With a final hug, though, his mother had gone back to writing in her journal. His father still wouldn’t be home for at least an hour, so Spock had a little time to deliberate. He returned to his room, planning to meditate or perhaps record some entry of his own on his PADD. He wasn’t planning on putting on the robes from his _koon-chara_ , although ultimately that’s what happened. They called to him.

He locked the door. He slipped into his robe, tying the sash around his waist and re-combing his new hair. Now, when he looked at himself, he saw— well, he saw a thing in progress. He saw a boy who was trying so hard to be seen, and he was proud of that! Everything he could be doing to feel right, he was, in that moment. He clamped his teeth to better define his jawline. He turned his head to look for new angles. He considered and weighed methods he hadn’t even tried yet to find himself, like making his chest flatter or filling in his eyebrows. None of these things, he knew, were necessary. This wasn’t about the need to pass as a man to society.

This was about making sure _he_ and he alone could recognize himself when the time came. Right now, he almost did.

But sooner or later, he’d need to change out of the outfit. Without it, the gender euphoria he’d temporarily found would likely disappear; logically, he would feel worse slipping into T’Pock’s clothes than he felt in his own. With that in mind, Spock intended to make the feeling last.

He sat on his bed, careful not to wrinkle his robes or disturb his hair. Spock grabbed his PADD and opened it to the notes section, where he began to compile a letter.

“Dear Father,” he typed. And then he sat there.

“As you have no doubt noticed, I have gotten a haircut. If you are wondering why such a drastic change has occurred—”

Delete.  

“I do not know what you expected when Mother gave birth to a half-human child—”

Delete.

Before he could become even more frustrated, Spock placed the PADD to the side and closed his eyes. Meditation may be the key to this particular dilemma. He focused on his breathing, bringing peace into his mind before clearing it, and starting over.

_Dear Father…_

Whatever he could come up with, he was going to use tonight.


	4. Dear Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock has a plan to come out to Sarek, although obviously it's a more complicated issue than logic alone can solve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadnaming, misgendering and conflict come into play in this chapter. I also want to note that some aspects of this scene and this story, in fact, were somewhat influenced by prinxbradley's trans Spock fic— although it's neither the same Spock nor plot. His fic, Build The Life You Want To Lead, is very good and I'd recommend reading it if you're interested. There's not a lot of trans!Spock to go around.

Spock’s heart pounded as he stood by the doorway, his hands clutched behind his back. He’d written everything he needed out on his PADD, revised it, and gone over it several times in his head before his father had returned home, only minutes ago— but none of it had truly prepared him for what he was about to say. Right now, Sarek was resting in their living room, taking a brief meditation period before he came to greet his wife and daughter. Spock felt only marginally sorry for interrupting him.

“Father?”

Upon being called, Sarek spoke. “Just one moment, T’Pock,” he answered, eyes still closed. “If you wish to talk, I will come to you when I am ready.”

 _So this is how this is going to go,_ Spock thought. “No, Father,” he said. “I believe it would be best to talk now.”

Sarek opened his eyes, albeit obviously reluctantly. He glanced up at Spock and only raised an eyebrow when he saw his son’s new hair, nearly a foot shorter now than when he’d left for work. He said nothing.

“What do you think?” Spock prompted, according to plan. _There are three responses which I have concluded are most likely. If he asks if Mother has done this for me, I will insist we leave her out of it. If he expresses overt distaste—_

His father simply turned away from him.

“My opinion will not alter the fact that what has been done is done,” Sarek stated, having eyed him over. “Nor will it likely change your mind about the decision. Therefore, it does not matter.”

He began the meditation again. Spock felt his emotions rising in him: frustration and anxiety, among other, slipperier things he couldn’t name. He tried to ignore them all. If only he could get his father to engage and _listen_...

Spock spoke up again. “Father—”

“It has been a long and taxing day of negotiations, T’Pock, many of which required supreme diplomacy from me,” Sarek interrupted. “You will forgive me if I do not have the time to contend with you now.”

“Father, I must _insist—_ ”

“Leave me be, my daughter.”

“No!” Spock yelled, even to his own surprise. He didn’t realize how much anger had been boiling in him. With a start, Sarek whipped back around.

“You will _not_ —” his father began.

“I am not your daughter! You have no daughter,” Spock repeated. He was making his way toward his father, soon standing right next to where he kneeled. Sarek watched in bewilderment. He was finally paying attention.

“You only have me,” Spock muttered. He fell to the floor, curled up and collapsed under the weight of all he’d just done. A small sob could be heard escaping him, and his father, a highly-practiced Federation ambassador, had no idea how to handle him.

 

* * *

 

Amanda had rushed out of their bedroom at the sound of the cry, though Sarek quickly tried to send her away. He figured since his daughter— his child?— had come to him alone, this was something he should handle. His wife was not having it. She clearly wanted to comfort T’Pock, but restrained herself and sat on the edge of the sofa near them, waiting and watching.

“Very well. If you are no daughter, then what are you?” Sarek asked softly. The mound on the floor shifted.

“Spock,” it whispered.

“He prefers to go by Spock,” Amanda added helpfully. Sarek turned to look at her.

“Were you already aware of this?”

“Leave my mother out of it,” Spock murmured.

Sarek repeated the name. He didn’t like the sound of Spock; it wasn’t the name he and his wife had picked out, but— as he had told T’Pock only minutes ago, his opinion would change nothing.

Or perhaps, as he had told _Spock_. Apparently. He was still too taken aback to really argue.

“Why?” his father asked.

Spock lifted himself from the floor and smoothed his clothes, as if in an effort to appear composed. To his father’s surprise, there were real tears in Spock’s eyes before he brushed them away. It took all of Sarek’s willpower not to reprimand him for losing control, though clearly that was not what he needed right now. He stayed quiet.  

“I— you see— _kaiidth_ ,” Spock managed to get out. “What is… is. I am trying to follow what I now think— no, know, to be true. I am not your daughter. I am your son.”

He seemed to be waiting for a response, but Sarek couldn’t think of the right thing to say. _What was the correct thing?_ His child was in distress, his wife had known and not told him; his child thought she was or perhaps _was_ a gender other than what he’d thought, and had become overly emotional about it— which could mean it would all disappear once she regained her state of mind, _or_ possibly that proved that it was truly justified. All this reasoning and more went through Sarek’s head in the brief moment Spock waited, while he decided on an answer. He wasn't certain that he believed her, just yet.

“I see... If you are sure… then adjustments will have to be made,” he said aloud. Spock nodded.

“I am sure.”

“Very well,” Sarek replied. He stood from where he had been kneeling; Spock followed him up and stepped back. Amanda began rubbing his shoulders.

“I am going to our room to formally, fully meditate,” Sarek announced, nodding to his wife. “Do not follow me. I will return when it is time to eat.”

With that, he left the room. He certainly had a lot to think about.

“That still could have gone worse,” he heard Amanda telling Spock. He pressed the button on the door, closing it behind him for silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very difficult for me to write, and I'm not sure if I'm fully satisfied with it. But I think I needed to get it out here so I could continue on.


	5. Patience is Key; So is Method

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the initial excitement of coming out wears off over the next few weeks, Spock finds a method to keep himself from feeling stuck. There's only so much he can do alone.

Just before his sixteenth birthday, Spock decided to make a timeline of his transition— or at least, what of it he'd had so far. Keeping track of how much he’d already changed might, as his mother put it, “help him keep a positive attitude”. Whether that would end up being true or not, Spock couldn’t yet tell. He needed _something_ to hold onto when the long road ahead daunted him. So he began, compiling events in bullet points on his PADD, locking them inside a secret folder his school couldn’t access. Just in case.

It started, he supposed, with a realization that he even more different from his classmates than he’d thought. Before he’d even been bonded to T’Pring, he’d felt out of place, though most of that he’d attributed to being half-human. Looking back, he could see that it was jealousy he’d had, that the other boys didn’t have to prove themselves— they could take shortcuts, where he and the girls often had to demonstrate that they didn’t _need_ shortcuts to be considered equal.

Did he feel like he’d had a boy’s childhood? No. Did he even feel like he’d _been_ a little boy...?

Not necessarily. He didn’t have the language to describe it then, and even if he had, Spock doubted his mental capacities were strong enough at that time to have figured it out. He’d barely been able to recognize what emotion he was feeling half the time, being thrown into a world of logic with capabilities the other children didn’t have.

If there were others like him— and probability assured him there were more than just a handful from the history books— some of them may have known from the beginning who they really were. He hadn’t. But he knew now, and that was the important thing.

In grade school, Spock had spent a lot of time fighting the kids who made fun of him, and fighting himself. Being half-human had consumed him, and didn’t leave a lot of time for contemplation. He could pick out a few hints here and there that pointed toward his identity, but nothing truly worth noting until he’d become a teenager.

As his peers began to mature, Spock had been expected to spend more time with his bondmate, some even on parent-sanctioned dates. He and T’Pring had had few of those so far, which likely suited both of them— Spock had found himself uninterested in relationships at all, even with his own bondmate. Girls simply didn’t hold his attention, and the idea of somehow escaping T’Pring and being “taken care of” by a boy had disgusted him. Now, Spock was starting to realize that he might not mind being with a guy someday— as long as he was treated as one, too. Not that his own feelings mattered much. Unless he went to Starfleet, he almost certainly would marry T’Pring.

At fourteen he’d come to his mother in crisis because he didn’t know who he was. He hadn’t known, at the time, whether he’d had a gender at all, or what he felt, or how to move forward— it didn’t seem like there was any option for him other than being T’Pock. Amanda, in her inexplicable wisdom, invited Spock to just “follow the thread”. “See where this takes you,” she’d advised, “Find what feels right and do it.”

As a Vulcan, Spock had not been satisfied by this bit of advice. He tried all sorts of things, from changing his eyeshadow to a more subtle tone to stuffing a sock between his legs— he hadn’t liked that. He’d done research, scouring studies and small forums for answers about himself, until ultimately it paid off. Months later, he’d come back to his mother, and told her the truth he now knew. She’d taken it remarkably well.

And there had been a number of bigger steps in between then and now. He’d picked out his name, changed shampoo and deodorant scents, and shopped for robes, which he then wore to _koon-chara_. He’d sort of come out to T’Pring.

And now he’d cut his hair. His father knew who he was, though whether he truly accepted him or not was another story. Their relationship was on the mend.

Spock could have used the opportunity of his hair being cut to come out to everybody, but he’d ultimately decided against it. There were too many variables; too many individuals he was unsure of about their stances. _It was better,_ he had reasoned the first time unfamiliar people had filled the house, _to let them conclude this is simply some product of my odd heritage, rather than confirming it is certainly because of my gender._

Besides, someone might let it slip to T’Pane.

He was young. He still had time.

 

* * *

 

Then again, time in itself was not something Spock wanted lying about in great quantities. His progress made him proud, but he needed _more._ More change, faster. It didn’t feel like there was a lot left for him to do, until he could make bigger moves.

So he did what impatient trans teens have been doing for centuries— he got the help he needed from elsewhere. Sometimes hundreds of light years away, in fact— the online community he’d joined was far from local.

Different societies accepted different things, he’d quickly learned from talking with the others. There were no Klingons in the group, though from all he’d heard, they could possibly be the most accepting of people like him. Apparently, they considered misgendering to be a serious lack of respect, which would not be tolerated. Not that Spock imagined he’d be spending a lot of time with Klingons— the Federation had been in cold war with them since the beginning of the century. Other societies, like the Orions, were predominantly accepting of anything, while the Ferengi were probably the worst company he could have.

Confessions tended to be mixed about humans.

He ended up having several deep conversations with a person whom he only knew as Nyota— they were from Earth, and still hadn’t pinned down the exact label they preferred, but broadly used 'nonbinary'. The idea that someone could exist outside of the binary he'd been taught for so long, frankly, fascinated him. And among trading their experiences related to gender, Nyota seemed especially intrigued by Vulcan life. Spock was more than happy to share his stories, especially since he had complete control over what Nyota knew about him and what they didn’t. That had never happened before, and it became a bullet point he added to his list.

With Nyota’s help, he developed a plan to use Starfleet as an escape to develop himself. Once he returned to Vulcan, he’d be far enough along in his physical transition to be himself here— and at Starfleet Academy, he’d be starting over with a new batch of people who didn’t know him as T’Pock. It was far from perfect. He’d like to already look more like himself when he began the Academy, to make it more believable when he said his name was Spock. But it was something to hold onto. He had a record of his past, and a map for the future, and that was more than he’d had months ago.

He was moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever start to feel uncertain about your own identity: breathe first. Maybe it's not what you thought it was, or what you lived it as, and that's okay. My old therapist gave me the same advice Amanda gives Spock here, and a couple years later here I am. Moving forward. That's okay.


	6. Blood Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to feel manly when you can't do anything except lay and bleed. At least Spock has a new friend to support him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals intimately with periods and dysphoria. I feel like now is a good time to mention that periods are not inherently disgusting, though it can certainly feel that way when blood is leaking out of your personal body. For Spock, this disgust is only complicated by the fact that menstruating is so culturally tied to femininity. If you don’t want to read this chapter, please feel free to skip ahead.

Nyota had quickly become Spock’s favorite person. They were they smart, and passionate, and well-versed in queer matters in a way no one on Vulcan seemed to be. As a bonus, they hadn’t met him in person— Nyota had never heard Spock’s too-high voice, or seen his too-soft face. Unlike his classmates, they’d never seen him shifting uncomfortably in clothes he didn’t want to wear. Spock didn't have to prove who he was, and for once, that was refreshing.

In the months that had passed, he hadn’t seen Nyota's face either. The distance kept both of their dysphorias at bay.

But despite a lack of ‘proof’ of identity, Spock had faith that Nyota was who they said they were. Even if the interplanetary servers _weren’t_ rigid enough in their ID screenings to be used in the military, Nyota had a way of sharing stories that felt— well, too vivid not to be real. They hadn’t shown their face, but they’d told him how they used to use Swahili as a secret code with their younger sister, since they were both fluent and their classmates didn’t know the language. They described the huge family gatherings they’d been a part of, every year, both to celebrate their heritage and one other. They recounted their experiences at school as a person others interpreted as female, and Spock recognized the details like they were his own. No, he hadn’t seen Nyota. But he knew them well, and he was better off because of them.

And it was a good thing he had them, because there were some things... he just couldn’t go to his mother for.

Amanda technically knew that her son had periods. She’d helped him through his first couple, after all, since it hadn’t been clear whether they would take a more Vulcan or human turn. But, as with _pon farr_ , the subject was extremely personal on Vulcan; rarely spoken of. At sixteen, Spock no longer felt like he could bring it up. Besides— though his mother was sympathetic, she’d never fully understand the extra load of emotions dysphoria provided him with now every cycle. Nyota didn’t seem to have it as bad as he did, but they understood.

And they were there for him on the nights like tonight, when it hurt so bad he was forced to curl up in bed. PADD in hand, a blanket over his head, Spock felt awful. He didn’t have the words to describe the pain that tormented his body— it was all he could do to pretend he hadn’t felt it all day. Currently, he’d resigned himself to watching a documentary about Terran creatures while Nyota messaged him in the background. To anyone else, it may have seemed like idle chatter, but their presence reassured him in the way only they could.

 **Ugh. I wish I could take a better history class already** , Nyota’s message popped up on the right of his screen. Spock glanced over to it, letting the PADD acknowledge that he’d read it. Nyota was still typing.

**I’m signed up for what’s supposed to be an overview of all human culture (for the 3rd time, that is)**

**Because school here relies on repetition. But I’ll be shocked if it goes into depth about any non-Western civilization**

Spock paused the documentary to read the new texts. He let out a small sigh, wincing as he did. At least education on Vulcan didn’t consist of the same, standardized classes being taught every few years like it seemed to be on Earth. His schooling had its drawbacks, but Spock didn’t think he’d trade if he got the chance.

Pain ripped through his side, and he gritted his teeth. Even focusing on school wasn't enough to distract him.

 **That does seem** **misleading** ,he typed back.

 **Yeah, really** , Nyota replied. **It is. If I get on the instructors’ good side maybe I can get them to add a unit**

After a moment, one more message popped up.

**Are you feeling okay? Just want to check in on you**

Spock’s heart panged as he read it, remembering how much Nyota actually cared about him. Already strained from a long day, the realization hit him hard. His eyes began to water. A heavy cloud of emotions began rising in Spock's chest; incomprehensible, inseparable and unbearable. He didn't feel like a boy. A boy would be able to handle this. 

 _A real_ _boy_ , he thought miserably, _would not have to go through this in the first place._

The control he'd managed to hold onto all day shattered. Was he feeling _okay?_   He felt weak. He felt awful. His lower back was on fire and his guts were at war, and now he was in the middle of an impromptu self-doubt session— and no one, not even Nyota, would fully understand all the factors of why he felt the way he did. He didn’t want them to worry.

 **ill be fine** , he typed, letting the PADD fix his message before it sent.

**I don’t know many guys who could do what you do. I’m proud of you**

**And I’m here if you need me** , Nyota offered. Spock nodded half-heartedly.

Their typing icon went away, so in the natural dip of conversation Spock resumed the documentary on the left of the screen. He let the smooth voice tell him all about the lives of Earthen animals. At first, he could barely focus, but he forced himself to watch. It didn’t make the pain go away, and it didn’t really make it easier, but it gave him something else to think about. If only he could shut out his own brain.

And his body. And his emotions, for that matter. Right now, there was very little of himself he wanted to hang on to.

 

* * *

 

In that night's dreams, Spock found himself with Nyota. He didn’t know what they looked like but somehow he knew it was them, and they were taller than him— surprisingly so. Both of them were out in a galaxy somewhere, on a starbase far from home. They just talked. When Nyota got a notification on their PADD the scene shifted, and suddenly they were on Vulcan, and Spock was speaking Vulcan but somehow Nyota understood him perfectly, and then his mother was there—

When Spock woke, the dream was already fading. His whole body ached. All he could remember was his friend and him looking out upon space, in some distant future where they were both happy.

“One day,” murmured Spock, “I will be among the stars. I will look and feel like myself, and I will not hurt.”


End file.
